


immoderation

by superstringtheory



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Accidental Overeating, Gen, Good Brother Ben Hargreeves, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Overeating, Past Drug Addiction, Recovery, Sick Klaus Hargreeves, Sickfic, Sobriety, Stomach Ache, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 07:55:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18633991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superstringtheory/pseuds/superstringtheory
Summary: Klaus has never been good at moderation.





	immoderation

Klaus has never been good at moderation. He excels at so many other things that it’d really be too much, wouldn’t it? And nobody likes a perfectionist. 

 

So yeah, he sucks at finding his limits on his own. He’s a lot better at overshooting them, then having the limits hand his ass back to him. Cue ambulance rides, cute paramedics performing CPR, and coming to consciousness a la Uma Thurman in  _ Pulp Fiction _ . 

 

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that he’d have trouble assessing his personal boundaries now that he’s sober. 

 

“I told you,” Ben says. He’s really gotten to be a huge know it all since he’s been dead. 

 

Klaus moans in response. 

 

“Although,” Ben continues, “it might be good for you to have some consequences to your behavior.” 

 

Klaus, still facedown on the kitchen table, manages to extend his middle finger in Ben’s general direction. It’s not like he’s never had  _ consequences _ before. He OD’d and that hot paramedic kissed him. Okay, maybe it was mouth to mouth, but it was clearly in the chain of events. And oh yeah! He fucked up and Ben died. Yada yada, he ran away from home and became an addict. Oh, the circle of life! 

 

“If you weren’t dead already I’d probably kill you,” he mumbles as his stomach makes a creaking, displeased noise. 

 

“What’d I do?” Ben looks more offended than anyone or any ghost has a right to be. 

 

Klaus sighs noisily. “You’re sup _ pos _ ed to save me from myself.” He gestures at the current tableau: himself, slumped over; the detritus of his recent fast food binge- the crumpled paper sack and wrappers littered on the table. 

 

“Clearly.” Ben does that thing where he’s mostly incorporeal but also obviously eavesdropping because he’s an obnoxious louse. 

 

“It huuuurts,” Klaus says, and Ben shrugs at him like “ _ what did you expect, eating five cheeseburgers in one sitting _ .” 

 

“Well, I ex _ pect _ ed to enjoy a nice meal and now here I am!” Klaus responds. 

 

“Don’t look at me, I didn’t say anything.” 

 

“Oh, your face says it all,” Klaus spits in Ben’s direction, then immediately feels regret for hurling vitriol at the only person who’s never abandoned him. Now’s not a good time to think about whether said person  _ could _ abandon him if he wanted to. 

 

He sits at the table for another few minutes until he feels like he might be able to get up. It’s a slow, painful process, but eventually he’s standing with a sheen of sweat on his brow. He hiccups, once, tasting bile. Klaus pats his stomach and is almost a little impressed despite himself. His belly curves out into a gravid bloat where it’s normally nearly concave. No wonder he’s suffering. 

 

He makes his sluggish way up to his bedroom, having to stop on the stair landing to let out a sour burp, which makes him feel better for a second. 

 

“Excuse you.” Ben grimaces. 

 

“Not like you haven’t seen worse.” Klaus waits a moment for his stomach to resettle and then continues on to his room. He doesn’t even want to think about how many times Ben’s been witness to his drug binges and withdrawals and the unsavory events that go along with them. 

 

“You don’t have to be here, you know,” Klaus says to Ben as he’s settled uncomfortably into the bed, curled protectively around his aching belly. 

 

“It’s better than the alternative.” Ben leaves that statement by itself, and Klaus knows better than to poke it. 

 

They lapse into silence and Klaus must doze off for a minute, because when he opens his eyes again, Grace is standing primly next to his bed, Ben hovering just behind her shoulder. 

 

“How’d you get her here?” Klaus asks, and Ben just shrugs. 

 

“She’s a mom,” he says. “And she was built to be  _ our _ mom.” 

 

“I hear you’re not feeling well,” Grace says in that formal, dictated way of hers. Closed captioning would have no problem transcribing anything she said. 

 

“Uuuuuughhhhh,” Klaus emits in response. 

 

“What seems to be the problem?” Now Grace is leaning over him with a delicate look of concern pasted on her pretty, perfect face. Her hand rests on his forehead for a moment, calibrating. 

 

“Hmm,” she says. “No fever.” 

 

Ben snickers in the background. Klaus would like to tell him to go fuck himself, but given that he’s kind of Ben’s tether to the world and all, if he did, Klaus would probably have to watch. Gross. 

 

“No fever,” Grace repeats. “But you look a little flushed. What’s hurting you, Klaus?” 

 

God, this is embarrassing. 

 

“I ate too much.” Klaus directs the words into his blanket. 

 

Grace straightens up. “Oh, is that all? We’ll have you fixed up in a jiffy!” She looks radiant at the prospect of helping him, and it makes something else inside Klaus ache besides his stomach. 

 

“I’ll be right back!” Grace tells him, and Klaus can’t help remembering how she always took care of them when they were sick, bringing their favorite sick-day foods and wheeling a little portable television into their respective rooms. Reginald could only see illness as weakness and wouldn’t acknowledge a sick child, so it was up to Grace to help them weather any maladies. 

 

Klaus felt like he was sick more than all the rest combined- maybe because he routinely spent hours alone in a cold mausoleum, or maybe because he attracted viruses like he attracted ghosts- and Grace was there to nurse him through every time. 

 

He’d missed that after he’d left, more than pretty much anything else. Of course, he’d learned to deal with it- but a certain little bit of him always ached for that portable television and a bowl of soup when he wasn’t feeling well. 

 

His reminiscence is interrupted by Grace’s reappearance in the doorway. She bustles into the room with a tray and stands by Klaus’ bedside expectantly until he reaches out for it. 

 

“Now, if you take that medicine and get some rest, I’m sure you’ll be feeling better in no time!” Grace smiles at Klaus, who can’t help but give a weak grin in return, even as his stomach rumbles unhappily at the thought of anything else joining the party. 

 

Klaus raises the bottle of Pepto-Bismol to Grace and then Ben, respectively, then takes a swig. 

 

“God, you’re such a lush even when you’re sober,” Ben mutters, and Klaus feels free to ignore him. 

 

“There,” Grace says, watching him replace the cap on the bottle. “That’ll fix you up just as soon as you know it.” 

 

Klaus makes a face as the taste of the medicine hits him. “Uh-huh.” 

 

“And drink your tea!” Grace reminds, nodding at the mug of tea that’s also on the tray. 

 

Klaus takes a rudimentary sip to placate her and keeps the mug to his lips until she seems satisfied. 

 

“It’s peppermint,” she tells him. “Good for tummy aches.” 

 

“Mm-hmm.” Klaus places the mug and tray onto the floor. “I’ll drink the rest later. Promise.” 

 

“Okay. Sleep well, Klaus. I hope you feel better.” Grace returns to his bedside to kiss his forehead, then takes her leave. 

 

It’s weird, but he already does. It’s a malady of his own making, but it’s the first time in years that he’s had anyone to really take care of him, to really  _ care _ . 

 

He figures that’s worth a stomachache every now and again.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for a flamboyant trash heap character. 
> 
> Come find me on tumblr at superstringtheory.tumblr.com.


End file.
